


i put a bullet where i should have put a helmet

by bodhirookes



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Angst, Canonical Character Death, Except Joey's not really dead woops, Fluff, M/M, Sexy Times, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-28
Updated: 2014-10-28
Packaged: 2018-02-23 00:48:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,076
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2527820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bodhirookes/pseuds/bodhirookes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Billy's finally accepted the fact that Joey's gone- and then the kid gets out of a helicopter, smiling like nothing went wrong.</p><p>And he really doesn't know what to do with that.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i put a bullet where i should have put a helmet

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first Toy Soldiers fic but I watched it literally all of Saturday and thought that I should maybe write this fic that I've had planned out since 2012 (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ So I hope you enjoy it and such!
> 
> Title is from I Wanna Get Better by Bleachers

Billy's got his arms slung carelessly around Hank's shoulders, grinning like a fool and his eyes wet, when the helicopter lands.

 

When he looks over at it, the first person out is the head of the FBI team. He's grey and old and looks so relieved to find everyone alive that Billy's grin widens even if his heart shrinks. Then out comes some other law-related men and women, and even a kid's dad who was apparently allowed inside of the copter. Billy watches the kid yell and run all the way across the lawn, screaming his dad's name and his dad crying like hell. They embrace and Billy tries to be happy for them.

 

And that should be it- the only people left in the helicopter should maybe be the pilot and some other technicians. But they're not. Because the last person to get out of the aircraft is someone Billy thought he would never see again.

 

Joey fucking Trotta is doing what his surname suggests he should be- loping across the lawn, towards Billy and the others and looking so proud of himself that he could explode. Billy's breath catches in his throat and for a second he thinks _he'll_ explode because he can't even believe what's right in front of his own two eyes.

 

The worst and best part of the whole thing is that Joey's chest is fine. There are no bullet holes in him, there's no blood on his still freakishly hippie clothes, and there's absolutely no gun in his hand. He looks like the same kid Billy had been talking to hours before.

 

It feels like a goddamn lifetime ago.

 

Snuffy is the first one to react; shouting loud enough to make Billy's eardrums vibrate, he lets go of his arm and runs across the yard towards Joey. They practically bounce off of each other when meeting because they hit so hard, all flailing arms and cries of delight. Ric swears and follows Snuffy's lead, calling Joey an asshole and throwing his arms around his shoulders. Joey calls him an asshole right back and Ric laughs with his entire body.

 

"That son of a bitch," Hank spits out, and goes to the forming cluster of teenage boys all piling on top of one not-even-a-little-dead Joey.

 

This all happens very fast, but to Billy, it stretches out longer than the night he spent throwing up into Yogurt's trash can, thinking about Joey and all of the blood soaking into his shirt and onto the steps of the quad. He remembers feeling the nausea like a stone in his stomach, feeling the pain everywhere but on tangible skin, and it's nothing compared to the numb awe he feels looking at Joey's grinning face.

 

He never thought he'd see that stupid, lop-sided smile again.

 

His knees turn to water when said stupid smile glances up from Yogurt, who's telling Joey that he missed the best damn part of this mess, to look straight at him from not even fifteen yards away.

 

If Billy could feel anything, he'd probably be sobbing right now.

 

Joey's smile grows softer, warmer, and he wriggles out from underneath the mass of excited and drained teenage boys. Billy's mouth goes dry when he sees Joey's wearing the same jacket he got shot in, with specs of red still on the laces and tops of his shoes. The other boy walks closer to him, with his flippy hair and soft brown eyes, and Billy _hates_ him for doing this.

 

When Joey's right in front of him, warm hand on his shoulder, he whispers, "Hey, Billy."

 

It's the most outrageously casual thing that Joey has ever said to him, and that's what sets him off.

 

Billy's blank face suddenly screws up like he swallowed a lemon, and he punches Joey right where the first bullet went into below his collarbone.

 

"You fucking asshole!" Billy screams, and doesn't even care when everyone looks at him in surprise. "You stupid fucking prick! How could you- why would you do that to me?"

 

Joey tries to catch and slow his hands, but when he closes his fingers around Billy's wrists, the shorter yanks his hands back and shoves Joey away from him. He doesn't say anything about Billy saying "me" and not "us" because that's how they are. 

 

"I watched him shoot you!" he yells, so loud that his vocal chords feel as though they'll snap in half if he tries any harder. "I watched you fall to the fucking ground and die, Joey!"

 

"I know," Joey keeps saying, and even though Billy tries to push him away, he keeps on grabbing Billy's hands and pulling him closer. It's infuriating. "I know, I know. I had to. I'm sorry."

 

"Don't even fucking say that." Billy's voice begins to drop and all of the tears from before suddenly swarm into his eyes again. They're heavy and hot and painful. He chokes on the words he's trying to hurt Joey with. "D-don't even go there, Joey."

 

All of the fight leaves him as soon as it entered, and Billy crumples forwards, his hands curling tightly into Joey's worn Pink Floyd shirt. He's making noises so agonized and wild that he doesn't even realize they're coming from him until Joey cups the back of his head, and he begins wailing like a five year old who fell off their bike.

 

"I'm sorry," Joey says again in his deep, familiar voice, and Billy gives in and pulls him close. He ignores the hot wetness hitting the back of his neck and just takes in the feeling of Joey's shirt against his nose and the smell of fabric softener and cologne.

 

Billy gulps in air, trying to calm himself down and slow the tears enough to talk. He's a blubbering mess and cares exactly not at all. "I-I almost couldn't do it. Every time I thought about going t-through with the plan, I saw you die and it shut me down."

 

Joey's fingers find his curly mess of hair and tangle themselves in, Billy gasping wetly. "I'm so glad you did. Saved everyone, Billy."

 

"Everyone but you," Billy reminds him, and he chokes on another wave of distress. "God, you fucking moron. Don't do that to me ever again, you piece of shit."

 

Joey's laugh breaks the oppressive cloud around them, warming Billy right up like a cup of tea, and he finally feels like it's going to be okay again.

 

"I won't. I swear."

 

"You _really_ swear?"

 

Joey pulls his head away from Billy's, fingers still in his hair, and grins. "I swear on my life."

 

Billy punches him again, this time in the arm, and Joey laughs even harder. Billy would laugh, but he can't, so he just smiles fondly at Joey and admires the way the sun makes him look more warm and real than ever.

 

**~.~.~**

 

Phil is still gone by that evening, his parents wishing for him to take a week before going back to get his wits together. They'd never admit to it, but Billy and everyone else know they're just scared that Cali's still got men hiding around the school.

 

So the two take advantage of the time alone by sprawling out together on Billy's bed, naked limbs tangled and heads pressed together. Billy's playing with Joey's drawing hand, wondering how in the ever-loving fuck something so simple can make such beautiful works of art. It might be cheesy as hell, but he could care less at the moment.

 

When Joey presses a light kiss to his forehead, Billy closes his eyes and take a deep breath.

 

It comes out barely more than a whisper:

 

"How'd you do it?"

 

And Joey doesn't need to ask what "it" is.

 

Sighing, Joey takes the hand Billy's playing with and locks their fingers together, resting them on his rising stomach.

 

"They call them squids in Hollywood," he tells Billy, just as quietly as the other had asked the question. Billy's eyes look wide and like moss in the wane lighting. "They're fake blood pockets. You attach them to your skin or clothing, connect them to a detonator, and when you press a button, they explode."

 

Billy blinks slowly, like he doesn't even want to say these words, but he knows that he has to or it'll driving him fucking nuts. "The bullets?"

 

"Bullet proof vest."

 

Billy squints. "What about when Cali felt for a pulse? Did you stick a fucking rock in your neck or have a magical squid for that?"

 

Joey chuckles and smiles, sweet and slow; the other has missed that smile so much that seeing it still hits him like a punch. "No. The guy I took the gun from was undercover. He had it all hooked up. Put some patch on my neck and covered it in latex."

 

"Figures," Billy snorts, and rolls his eyes. "Can't trust even the goddamn FBI to assure you peace of mind."

 

Joey grows serious then, his fingers tightening around Billy's. "There was no way in hell I was going to tell you what I was up to. If Cali caught wind of the plan and found out that you knew..."

 

Billy watches as Joey's face flattens and his throat works around the words he just said. He muses how much Joey's throat actually fluctuates in the course of a day.

 

(He knows just how much. He spends most meals staring at his throat, watching it when Joey swallows and laughs and talks, wishing it were his cock vibrating against his Adam's apple instead of snarky words directed at Hank or Snuffy.

 

He even saw it just ten minutes before when he was fucking Joey, whispering how much he had missed the other for even a day, how watching him die made Billy want to scream until his lungs bled. Billy kept thrusting into him with deep, long strokes, and even though his words were painful and sad, Joey threw his head back and kept moaning sweetly with Billy's hands on his hips and his lips against his ear.)

 

Joey avoids thinking about Billy's back when Cali had beaten him by moving closer to him, sandwiching their hands between them and his other hand smoothing over Billy's wrinkled brow.

 

"I did what I had to," Joey concludes, and looks away from Billy's forehead to his eyes. "I accepted the fact that you would probably hate and me and feel absolutely betrayed when I got out of that helicopter. But with the path you were heading down with Cali, I'd do it all again in a heartbeat if it meant keeping you and everyone else safe."

 

And Billy couldn't argue with that, as much as he wanted to; he knew that if he and Joey's roles had been switched, he would've done the exact same thing.

 

Billy lets him know by tilting his head up and kissing Joey sweetly. His lips are still raw from earlier, but he'd kiss Joey until his lips cracked and bled if it meant he could be near the other.

 

"Please don't do it again," Billy breathes against his teeth. "Ever again. I swear to _God_ , if you fake your death again I'll kill you myself. I'm not even kidding a little bit."

 

Joey rolls his eyes and hits Billy's shoulder, grin returning. "Please. Can't we just let it go and move on? It was hardly that big of a deal."

 

He doesn't even need Billy's meaningless pleas to know that it meant everything in the world.

 

Billy doesn't, either.

 

"Yeah, right, Trotta." Billy chides, kissing him again. "You out of anyone should know that I'm a master at holding grudges."

 

Joey laughs and somehow they end up tangled to hell in Billy's sheets, laughing and kissing and crying even though none of those should fit together into one scenario. Neither care what should make sense, because one died and the other saw him reappear out of nowhere, and that defies every rule in their relationship.

 

Billy's just gotten Joey on his back, tongue right under his pectoral, when an ever-familiar rapping sound floats up from the vent against the wall. Hank and Snuffy, wanting to know if the two are up for a regular old Regis-style adventure.

 

"Fuck," Billy groans, and when Joey laughs and says they can always just jack each other off when Snuffy's too drunk to talk, Billy shoves him out of bed, and Joey takes the sheets with him.

 


End file.
